To Belong
by Clodilla
Summary: F!Hawke  mage  and Fenris, snippets from their relationship as the years in Kirkwall go by...


Disclaimer - Bioware owns all these wonderful characters. I just can't get them out of my head.

Wishes and Whisky

The chimes from the Chantry clock tower echoed through the dark halls of the nearly empty house. Fenris turned from wiping a thick layer of dust off the seat of a chair to glance through the cracked ceiling at the fading light in the sky, then dropped his head back to his task with a sigh. He wasn't sure why he was bothering to clean up the few rooms he actually used in the abandoned house he'd claimed for himself. Finally back in the city of Kirkwall after over three months spent journeying to, from, and within the Deep Roads, he was bruised, hungry, and beyond exhausted. A quick shake of the linens on the bed and he could have been fast asleep hours ago. But here he was, sweeping cobwebs out of corners after having taken a bath and started a fire, all on the strength of little more than "I might." A woman's voice rang out from the street below – he froze, listening, then slumped into the worn but clean chair. It wasn't Hawke.

Only a few hours had passed since he'd parted with Hawke, but he already missed her. The sound of her voice – the soft glow of her mage's staff – the dark auburn hair and steel grey eyes – the tangible feeling of her presence, never more than a few steps away – all the things about her that he'd grown so used to during the last three months. Their sudden absence felt so strange, like the uneasy feeling that lingered in your body for days after the end of a long journey at sea. He reached over to the nearby table and picked up a bottle of Antivan wine he'd brought up from the cellar, debating whether to open it for himself or continue to hope he'd have the chance to share it with her.

Three months before they'd left the city for the Deep Roads with a group numbering nearly twenty – himself and Hawke; her younger brother Carver; Hawke's dwarven friend Varric and his older brother Bartrand, the titular head of the expedition; two other dwarves providing supplies and enchanting weapons and armor; and a dozen hired swords. Earlier that afternoon Fenris, Hawke and Varric had returned. Bartrand had betrayed them while they'd been foraging through some ancient ruins, locking a door behind them. What had become of him, the two other dwarves and the hired men they didn't know. But Carver… The bottle slammed back onto the table with a disgusted sigh. He was being a fool – she'd probably only given him a response to be polite. She had to go home and tell her mother that Carver was dead.

Halfway back to the surface, after fighting their way through darkspawn, demons, and something very large that Varric called a rock wraith, Carver had begun to show signs of the darkspawn taint. Hawke had practically carried him for another day and a half before even she was forced to admit he wasn't going to make it. Fenris and Varric had both moved a respectful distance away when she laid him down on the floor of the Deep Roads, and each let out a heavy sigh as the sharp scraping of a sword hitting stone echoed around them. Several minutes passed by with no sound or movement from anyone until a distant, metallic banging drew Fenris's head up. With a nod at Varric, he'd slowly approached her, still kneeling on the floor next to her Carver's body. "There may be darkspawn nearby," he said to her in as gentle a tone as he could. "We cannot linger." She'd turned head away from the sight of the sword she'd driven into her brother's chest and nodded. Even in the dim light of the underground the streaks of tears shone brightly on her dust-covered cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Hawke," Varric had said softly as she stood. "I wish we didn't have to leave him here like this."

Hawke's eyes narrowed – she flicked a hand towards her brother – a fireball leapt from her fingertips and sailed through the air, engulfing the body it in its flames. "My mother is never to know how this happened," she'd whispered tightly, more tears rolling down her face as the fire rose higher. "Carver…being gone will be hard enough." She waited until both Fenris and Varric had nodded before turning on her heel and marching away.

She'd barely spoken more than a word or two during the rest of their journey back to Kirkwall. When they stopped to rest she would sit and stare off into the distance, her eyes as cold and lifeless as the stone around them. Once they got back to the surface Varric started telling stories as they all sat around the campfire at night, trying to cheer her up. She would occasionally muster a ghost of a smile before slipping back into her own thoughts. That half-hearted, wan gesture wounded Fenris as deeply as a dagger in his chest, remembering how only days before she'd had a smile that would light up all of Darktown and a laugh that could probably be heard all the way back in Tervinter. He hadn't realized how fond he'd grown of them until they were gone.

His eyes had first been drawn to her when he saw her casting spells as they fought their way through the abandoned mansion he now called home in the ultimately vain hope that the Tervinter magister who had been his owner was inside. He'd been angry, both at her for being a mage and at himself for not having figured it out earlier, resolving to watch her closely for signs of blood magic. There were none that night nor, he had to admit, at any time since, so as the days became weeks and then months his eyes began to notice other things. Her quick laugh and disarming smile. The tilt to her head during a conversation that meant she was truly listening to what he said. Her calm and patient demeanor around her brother, even when he'd snap that all mages were dangerous and should be locked up – comments his mage sister always answered with a quiet cough and a raised eyebrow. The sinewy muscles in her arms, left bare by the sleeveless chestplate she usually wore. By the time they descended into the Deep Roads his eyes were finding their way to her during nearly every idle moment, unbidden but also unrestrained.

He knew it was too much; that he'd gotten a little careless about when he watched her and how long he let his gaze linger. Maybe he'd thought he could let his guard down away from the crowds in the city; maybe it was the way she kept ending up near him as they walked or when they set camp for the night. No matter the cause, the effect was that one morning while they were packing to move out his eyes were drawn away from the curve of her hips by a sudden, rapid movement off to the side – Carver, charging at him like a mad bull. "Oy! Elf!" he called out angrily. "Eyes off my sister!"

Fenris turned away, mad at himself for getting caught but unwilling to let the younger man see it. "I don't see how it's any business of yours where my eyes go," he growled back.

"Because she's my sister," Carver snapped, stepping closer. "You leave her alone or I swear I'll –"

"Carver!" Both men whipped around at the sound of Hawke's voice. "Do you want your heart forcibly removed from your chest?" she asked as she walked up to them. Carver curled his lip and gave Fenris another angry look before stalking off. "I'm sorry about that," Hawke sighed, shaking her head. "He's just frustrated by our lack of progress, but he shouldn't have taken it out on you."

Now Fenris turned away from her, hunching his shoulders to keep her from coming closer. "I understand." Even if she hadn't caught him watching her, Carver's reaction must have betrayed his attentions. "I…I apologize if I have offended you in any way," he added quietly, hoping she would just tell him not to do it again and walk away.

"If you had don't you think I would've already said so myself?"

He counted to three before shifting his body just enough to look back towards her. She had a slight smile on her face and a calm, almost reassuring look in her eyes. Fenris coughed softly, wondering if he dared to let himself read as much meaning into her words as they seemed to admit. "You aren't shy about sharing your thoughts, true," he said slowly.

Hawke's smile had broadened, her eyes dropping briefly to sweep over him. "Not all of them," she murmured, holding his gaze for a few tantalizing seconds before she'd turned and walked slowly back towards her gear.

Fenris let out a deep sigh and closed his eyes, sinking lower into the chair. He hadn't seen that Hawke since Carver's death. The Hawke who always had a smile on her face and a light in her eyes. Eternally optimistic to the edge of naiveté and yet worldly enough to not blink an eye when confronted by slavers or a double-dealing Chantry sister. The relaxed, happy-to-be-alive-and-not-imprisoned-by-the-templars Hawke that had helped the mage, Anders, and the Rivaini pirate, Isabela, teach Varric a dirty Ferelden drinking song.

In her place was the Hawke who had stopped at the top of the stairs leading to Lowtown earlier that day, fear suddenly darkening her eyes. Fenris was seized with a desire to say something to her, anything – to find the words that would make her smile again. But he had no talent for conversation in the best of times, so instead he stood and stared at the diminishing figure of Varric as the dwarf blithely shuffled his way towards the Hanged Man tavern, unable to think of any phrase that sounded right.

"I, uh…" Hawke's voice, raspy from underuse, broke the silence. "I guess I'll see you around."

He nodded, and she had stepped down the first few stairs when he suddenly started forward, coming alongside her. "Hawke – " She'd turned, her eyes meeting his for the first time in days. The sadness and dread he saw in them nearly made him stumble and fall. "You're welcome to come by the mansion later," he said, cringing inside at how inadequate his words sounded.

Hawke had blinked, seemingly surprised, and for a second Fenris thought he saw a spark of light in her eyes. "I might," she'd said softly. "Thanks." She took a deep breath, then turned and started down the stairs again – he stayed, watching her until the crowds closed around her and hid her from his sight.

With a hissed curse in Tervinter he sat up and opened his eyes, sweeping an arm across the table and knocking papers and empty bottles to the floor in a cloud of dust. This had all been in his head – it had to have been. No woman like Hawke would ever waste her time with someone like –

Three sharp knocks rang out from the front door.

Fenris sprang out of the chair, striding out of the room and down the stairs so fast he skidded over the last few steps. Coming to a stop at the entryway he paused a moment to catch his breath and collect himself, then grasped the handle and opened the door.

Her eyes were so bloodshot they looked nearly solid red, the skin around them swollen. She'd bathed, but the clear trails of fresh tears still gleamed on her cheeks and while her hair was pulled up and back into its usual knot it was messy and uncombed. He must have looked as stunned by her appearance as he felt, because Hawke immediately frowned. "I'm sorry – is this a bad time?"

"No," he said quickly. "I just didn't expect to see you." Hawke's frown deepened. "I thought you'd be with your family all night," he added.

"I needed a break," she muttered. "I, ah –" She cleared her throat as she thrust a bottle at him. "I come bearing gifts," she said quietly, a wary look still haunting her eyes.

It was a medium grade whisky – not so expensive that you minded drinking most of it in one sitting but not so foul that you regretted it much the next morning. "Thank you," he said, taking the bottle from her. "Please, come in." He closed the door behind her as she stepped into the foyer, arms crossed tightly over her chest. "Are you alright?" he asked cautiously, glancing from her unkempt hair to her unscrubbed boots.

She opened her mouth to reply but stopped, her expression wavering, then cracking. "No."

He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly tight. "Your mother did not take your news well?"

"I had to tell her she's down to one child out of the three she had a year and a half ago, so no, she didn't take it well," Hawke snapped, taking a step towards him – then immediately stopped, clenching her hands into fists at her sides. "That was rude. I'm sorry. It's just…" She shook her head and took a deep breath. "Right now I just want to drink until I can forget it all for a few hours, but I'm not going to do that where Mother could see. So I thought I'd take you up on your offer to come over here."

Fenris gave her a small smile, relieved to be onto a subject he was familiar with. "I have glasses upstairs in my room. And I just got the fire going." To him, drinking to dull the pain was more than just a metaphor. He glanced down at his arm as he waved Hawke towards the main hall, his lip curling with disgust as he surveyed the silvery markings that twined down his arm and all over his body like vines growing over a ruin. Lyrium, the mineral that was the source of magic, forcibly carved and sealed into his skin many years ago by his former master in a ritual of such pain that it haunted him still. Just for good measure, it had also erased all his memories of his life before that moment. "I apologize for the mess," he continued, eyeing the toppled furniture and broken floor tiles all around them as they started up the stairs. "I've cleaned the place up some since you last saw it, but not enough."

"I not here for the décor, Fenris," Hawke sighed. "I came for the company." Fenris caught his foot on the front edge of a step, stumbling slightly but grateful for the excuse to look away and hide the sudden flush he felt coloring his face. "Besides, as long as there aren't any more dead bodies or demonic residue laying around it's still better than my uncle's depressing, dirty hovel," she added quickly, her voice pitched slightly higher than usual.

"There might a few left in the cellars," he said as they reached the top of the stairs.

Hawke shrugged. "Well, as long as they stay there…" Entering his room, she dropped into the chair he'd occupied moments ago while he grabbed two freshly dusted tumblers from a side table. He watched her gaze into the fire with the same vacant look as she'd had on their journey back to the city as he quickly opened the bottle and poured two generous drinks. She gave no sign that she was aware of his movements until he sat one of the glasses down on the table next to her with a deliberate thump.

He raised his glass as she took hold of hers. "To the memory of your brother," he said gently.

"To Carver," Hawke echoed, staring at the liquid in the glass for a second before tilting her head back and drinking all of it in one gulp. She winced and shuddered, then exhaled slowly before holding out her glass to him for a refill.

Fenris obliged, frowning slightly. "What happened?"

"Mother blamed me, of course," Hawke snarled, swallowing half of her new drink. "Just like she did after Bethany died." Her lip curled angrily as she leaned back in the chair. "How could I have let that ogre get anywhere near her?" she said sarcastically, draining the rest of her glass.

"It's my recent experience that an ogre does whatever it wants until it's dead," he replied carefully, filling her glass for a third time though he still hadn't had a sip of his own. She'd told him little of the sister – Carver's twin – who'd died when the darkspawn horde descended on her home village of Lothering, forcing Hawke and her family to flee to Kirkwall.

Hawke's eyes suddenly lost their focus, seeing something in another time and place. "It charged towards us and grabbed at whoever was closest," she said in a small, sad voice. "Whether it was the Maker's will or just bad luck, that was Bethany." She blinked and took another sip of her drink before setting it back on the table. "And now Carver's gone too."

"What is it you're supposed to have done that would have prevented his death?" he asked, finally taking a drink from his own glass.

"Stopped him from going on the expedition," Hawke sighed.

Fenris sat in a chair across the table from her, shaking his head. "He talked of little else from the moment I met him. I doubt there's anything you could have done to turn him from that path."

"Yes, there was," she said quietly. "Do you remember when Mother came by to talk to Carver and I when we were all outside the Merchants' Guild, getting ready to leave?" Fenris nodded – the three of them had moved to a distant corner of the square, and neither sibling had talked about what was said when the conversation was over. "She asked him not to go on the expedition. Begged him. Begged me to back her up, to tell him to stay. I didn't, obviously," she muttered, taking another large sip of her drink. "He would've given in if I had. He might never have forgiven us, but he would've stayed behind."

"So why didn't you?" Fenris asked carefully.

Hawke stared into the fire for a long moment. "We never got along very well," she began slowly. "He didn't hate me, but he resented me. Bethany too, sometimes, though it was always hard to get mad at Bethany and even harder to stay mad. She was too sweet and cheerful, and any time you tried to get angry at her she'd just turn those big brown eyes of hers towards you and –" She broke off suddenly, turning her head away from him. Fenris waited, wondering why she telling him these things – personal, private things that she surely would only trust to her closest friends. Hawke cleared her throat and took another drink to try to deflect his gaze from the movement of her other hand, wiping at the corners of her eyes. "Carver felt cheated out of having a father by the two of us and our magic. Father would spend hours with Bethany and I going through the few books on magic he'd taken with him when he escaped, and then more hours practicing. He doted on Carver when he had the time but training his daughters to control and conceal their magic was always more important, and Carver resented it." She sat forward in the chair, rolling her glass back and forth in her hands. "When Father died Carver expected we'd all turn to him, the only son in a house full of women, even though he was just fifteen and as thin as a stalk of corn. Instead, Mother deferred to me, the eldest."

"The most capable," Fenris countered.

She glanced up and gave him a grateful look, though her eyes didn't lift up quite far enough to meet his gaze. "He didn't argue," she continued, "But I knew it hurt him deeply. When King Cailan's call for soldiers to fight the darkspawn came he nearly kissed the recruiter. He thought he'd finally found something he could do that his apostate sisters could not – something that could prove the non-magic sibling in the family was worth something." Fenris took another drink and leaned back in his chair as Hawke's voice grew softer and sadder, beginning to understand how the story she was telling was going to end. "Instead, the army and his home were destroyed, his twin sister killed, and he found himself a penniless refugee in a strange city while once again his mother turned to me to lead the family." She tipped the rest of her drink down her throat. "More than anything he wanted to go on the expedition to show that he could get things done just as well as I could, to step out of my shadow. Making him stay here would have taken that dream away from him, and after everything he'd been through I just couldn't do that," she finished, her voice barely above a whisper.

Fenris refilled both their glasses, shaking his head slowly. "You had no way of knowing things would turn out as they did."

"That's what I keep telling myself," Hawked sighed. "But I was still supposed to look out for him, and for Bethany. I promised Father I would – " She broke off again, pushing herself out of her chair and pacing around the room.

"Your Father could not have known what lay in his family's future," Fenris said quietly, watching her face darken angrily with each step. "He would not have blamed you for the consequences of actions that were beyond your control."

"No, I have Mother for that," she said bitterly.

He frowned – what else was he supposed to say? "Look on the bright side," he began haltingly. "In a few months you will be a very wealthy woman. Then –"

Hawke whirled around, her eyes flashing. "I can't buy their lives back," she snarled.

"But you will be able to take care of your mother," he shot back, annoyed. It wasn't his fault Hawke seemed determined not to be cheered up – she'd come to see him, not the other way around. "Isn't that what you said you wanted out of the expedition? To get your family out of Lowtown, perhaps even to buy back the estate that once belonged to your mother's family?"

"A house cannot replace my brother," she hissed, her voice choked. "Or my sister, or my father." Her eyes began to glimmer – she turned away from him before the tears spilled over. "My family is gone."

"You still have your mother," Fenris said tersely, clenching his hands into fists. There was almost nothing he wouldn't give to remember one thing about his own mother – the color of her eyes, the sound of her voice, even just her name. "Does she mean nothing to you?"

"Of course not," Hawke snapped – but then she heaved a deep sigh, turning back around. "We're all each other has left," she said numbly, the anger slowly draining from her as she slumped back into her chair. "The irony of it is she always preferred the twins to me." She reached for her glass and took a generous sip, making no effort to hide the wetness on her cheeks. "I was daddy's little apprentice. Carver was with her nearly all the time, having the latest hole in his trousers or scrape on his knee fixed, and if she wasn't doing that she was sewing dresses for Bethany or braiding her hair."

He topped off both of their drinks, chuckling at how light the bottle felt. "What mischief were you up to all that time?"

"I may have occasionally – accidentally – hit my brother with a small lightning bolt," Hawke confessed, unable to keep a small but wistful smile off her face. "Mostly I just followed Father around, learning everything I could. Mother tried to teach me how to sew, or at the very least cook, but all I wanted to do was run around in leather armor and set things on fire."

His eyes couldn't resist the invitation of her words, quickly surveying the lines of the body beneath her light armor. "You do both very well," he said, his voice lower and thicker than a moment before.

Hawke blushed slightly, her eyes snapping up to his and gazing warily at him for a moment. "Thanks," she murmured, reaching for her glass and taking a drink to hide how her blush was spreading. "I, uh…I should get home before Mother starts to worry I've been gone too long." She picked the bottle up, then titled it upside down over her glass, laughing softly when only a few drops came out. "Thanks for listening to me rant and rave," she added, standing slowly. "I just needed to get a lot of things off my chest."

Fenris forced his eyes to stay on her face. "But…all we've done is talk," he said, feeling warm under the collar of his tunic as he also rose to his feet. "Nothing has changed."

"Sometimes I just need to hear the things I'm thinking said out loud so I can start dealing with them," Hawke sighed. "I know that no amount of whisky or wishes can bring Carver and Bethany back." She drank half of her remaining whisky, then cradled the glass in her hands, staring down at her reflection in the golden liquid. "But we can't carry every sorrow and regret in our lives around forever," she said softly. "Eventually they get to be too heavy, and either you've got to lay some down or you'll be drowned by them." Fenris shot her a strange look – Hawke was usually not one for grand or profound statements. She seemed to sense his bemusement, looking up at him with a shy, almost apologetic smile that only increased the temperature beneath his leathers. "Something my father said to me when it became clear he wasn't going to be with us much longer," she explained, looking away again.

Fenris couldn't find his voice for a few seconds. "It sounds like he was a good man," he finally said, coughing softly, "Even for a mage, if the quality of the daughter he raised is any guide."

Rather than looking flattered Hawke raised a skeptical eyebrow at him. "Even though she's a mage, too?"

He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another. While she had never questioned his hatred for mages and magic, acknowledging that his experiences as a slave to a Tervinter magister were more than adequate grounds for his beliefs, she'd made no secret of her equally firm belief that not every mage should be tarred with that same brush. Specifically herself. "You have shown admirable resistance to the temptations of demons and blood magic," he allowed.

"High praise from you," she replied evenly, the eyebrow going up a little higher.

"So far," he added, putting an edge into his voice and crossing his arms across his chest. He couldn't have her thinking he was going easy on her. "I'm sure demons will come to you in your dreams and offer you ways to bring your brother back."

Hawke's expression fell – her hands tightened around her glass. "What makes you think they haven't already?"

His blood ran cold, the memories of her tossing and turning at night during their journey back to Kirkwall flashing through his mind. "Of course," he choked out, a little embarrassed that he hadn't recognized the signs of fitful, vivid dreams for what they were. "I should have realized –"

"You're not a mage," she cut in firmly but quietly. "Be glad you don't know the difference between a nightmare that's merely a nightmare and one caused by demons taking the form of your dead brother and sister, begging you to save them."

Fenris choked back the bitter 'I am' he would've flung at any other mage but Hawke. There was something that set her apart from other mages he'd known, something that left him unable to believe she'd ever succumb to a demon's tempting whispers no matter how many times he told himself not to trust her. "I – I'm sorry," he sighed, uncrossing his arms. Inviting her to visit had been a mistake – he had no comforting words to offer her, only his own bitterness and pain. "If I ever suffered a loss like yours I have no memory it. I wish I knew what I could say that might ease your sorrow, but I do not."

He braced himself against a bitter 'You're right – you don't understand' reply, but instead she turned her head back towards him and gave him a soft smile. "Just saying that helps a little," she murmured.

"It does?"

She nodded, her smile strengthening. "It does. So did knowing I had somewhere to go when things at home got to be too much." Fenris felt his own expression brightening slowly, fighting back the urge to shake his head in bemused dismay at how she got him to do things like smile. "I should get going," she said at last, draining the last of her drink and setting the glass down on the table.

"I will walk with you," he said quickly.

Hawke raised a hand in mild protest. "That's not necessary."

"I know," he said, wondering for a moment whether he was talking himself into this as much as her. "But the streets are not safe this time of night, and I would blame myself if something happened to you after I let you travel alone."

For a moment it looked as if she was going to argue – then she suddenly broke into a long, jaw-stretching yawn. "If you insist," she muttered, blushing.

They walked a step slower than usual, chatting softly about nothing of importance – the pleasant evening weather, the things that had happened in the city during their absence, even the origins of the odors wafting up from Darktown. Hawke paused as they passed by the entrance to the estate her mother's family, the Amells, had once owned, peering into a broken window at the abandoned rooms within before moving on. They were just agreeing that they hadn't missed the food and drink at the Hanged Man tavern when Fenris looked up to see the stairs leading to Hawke's door looming suddenly before them. "And here we are," he said, a touch of reluctance in his voice. The walk had seemed to go by so fast he was almost wishing they had an excuse to keep going towards the docks or even the Gallows – any place that would keep this moment from ending.

"Thank you for walking with me," Hawke said, smiling as they began the walk up the stairs to the door.

Fenris was glad the poor lighting in this part of Lowtown would surely hide the blush he began to feel warming his face. "It was no burden."

Hawke let out a short laugh. "You lie very well," she smirked.

"I don't, actually," he muttered darkly. "The punishment Danarius meted out to other slaves who tried to deceive him in even trivial matters was too great to risk." As soon as the words echoed in his ears Fenris cursed himself for whining about his own problems on a night like this. Hawke scowled at her boots but said nothing. After a few moments of awkward silence he coughed softly, drawing her eyes back up to his own. "I presume I should not look for you to come around again for a few days," he forced himself to say in a brighter voice.

"Oh, I'll probably find myself in need of at least one drink at The Hanged Man by sunset tomorrow," she replied quickly as they reached the top of the stairs.

He couldn't stop himself from beginning to smile. "Then perhaps I will see you there, Hawke."

"You might," she replied, reaching for the doorknob and turning it, pulling the door halfway open. "But please," she added, giving him an honest, affectionate smile that would linger behind his eyes and hold sleep at bay until it was nearly morning, "Call me Anna. All my friends do."


End file.
